


Oh Say You Will

by ab2fsycho



Series: If on a Winter's Night an AU [5]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Don't be confused, It's happening, Knotting, M/M, PWP, Sex, and you can't stop me, cuz fangs are fun, high guys, i added fangs, i'm sorry i had to rant at AO3, jsyk, look here you useless paperclip, oh yeah, sequel to hysteria, there is sex, you will acknowledge that desmond sycamore is a goddamn character if i have to write 500 fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2465600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of years have passed since that fateful journey on the Bostonius. Descole had not intended to fall into a reunion. He had not intended a great many things to happen, and yet here he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Say You Will

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hysteria When You're Near](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334536) by [ab2fsycho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho). 



> This is a sequel. Don't forget to read the first part, kids.

He wasn't expecting to run into problems back in London, though he damn well should have. He'd run into a particular bit of bad business whilst tracking down the remnants of Targent. It angered him to recall that the organization had not entirely disbanded after Scotland Yard had taken in Leon Bronev.

However, Descole could not really afford to think too much about it at the moment. The afore-mentioned bit of bad business was currently chasing him, and his insides were still twisting and berating him for having been bedridden for a day or two. Typically, this sort of thing was not too difficult to deal with. All he had to do was duck into a back alley, jump up, grab the ladder, pull himself onto the metal frame, then keep climbing until he reached the roof. Once upon the roof, he could continue running without so much as blinking over whether or not he was being followed and meet up with Raymond at their rendezvous point. He'd mastered back alley escapes long ago, and the only individuals who knew who he was under his current disguise were his pursuers. The problem? By the time he'd climbed halfway up, he realized there was another goon awaiting him on the balcony he'd intended to use as an escape. It seemed his tricks were not so trustworthy any longer. And had he already mentioned his insides hurting despite the cause of the pain having already ended? If not, they were. Terribly. He supposed that was punishment for remaining an unattached omega during his time of need.

He wasn't without protection, though. With a smirk he doffed his disguise and donned his visage as Jean Descole. That, at least, startled his opponent enough to make him take a step back before Descole pulled out his sword and thrust it forward. He had not wanted things to resort to this. He really couldn't engage in fights while in London of all places, seeing as the media would get a hold of the information and spread it all throughout. He had old ties here in London, bridges he wasn't positive he wanted rebuilt. It bared mentioning how close he was to a particular university that he wouldn't feel safe until he ran as far from it as possible.

His opponent was prepared, unfortunately, and was able to dodge several of his attacks and parry the rest with a dagger. How ridiculous and inconvenient, he thought. It appeared that goons were becoming less like pawns and more like actual competent members of whichever organization they served nowadays. His thoughts would have proceeded on their own until the opponent presented him with a decent shot. Taking it, he stepped quickly with his arm outstretched. It hadn't occurred to him that it was a setup until the opponent sidestepped him, causing him to run straight into the rail, then flipped him over the side. He let out an undignified shout as he fell and landed on a pile of garbage bins. With the wind knocked out of him, his mouth hung open in an attempt to regain air. His back felt broken, which was impossible because he was still moving despite the horrible sensation. Worst yet, he couldn't see for the stars in his eyes from having hit his head on one of the bins.

Unable to recover fast enough, the perpetrator he'd left on the ground was able to grab him and pull him upright. His back protested at the movement, and he couldn't coordinate his limbs enough to put up a decent struggle. The other man climbed down to join the rest as a second perpetrator came over. Two men held each of his arms as he leaned forward, trying to relieve the pressure from his back enough to fight their steadfast grip on his arms.

“Unhand me this inst—,” he was cut off by the third man punching him in the gut. That coupled with the cramps and the pain from the fall would have sent him to his knees had two goons not been holding him up. He gasped, trying to reorient himself. Then the third man punched him in the jaw and made him bite his tongue. 

Blood spilled in his mouth as the man spoke, “You made a huge mistake, here.”

“Clearly,” he uttered, spitting blood on the man's trousers. That earned him another punch in the jaw.

Then he heard it. He heard the telltale growl resonating deep in one of their chests. He froze, feeling his stomach curl and uncurl again as he realized the man holding his left arm was none other than an Alpha. And he sensed Descole's weakness, one of the many things he'd struggled to keep secret (and in at least one case failed).

He should have known better than to attempt an escape, but despite the agony he tried. He should have known fighting would only alert the Alpha's senses and territorial nature more, but he stomped on the feet of both of the men anyway. Once that loosened their grip, he tried rushing forward only for the third man to shove him back. His sore back hit the brick wall and all three men fought to hold him against it. He wanted to shout at them, but fear paralyzed his vocal chords when the man to his right also started growling. Winded, he started trembling as all three pinned him and dear God, he couldn't breathe. He wanted nothing more than to reach up and cover his mouth and nose, to keep from inhaling their putrid scents. As it was, their heat started sinking into his sides and he couldn't even bring himself to let out a sarcastic quip or a promise to destroy them.

The third man, who had not reacted as his counterparts had (likely a beta and not an Alpha, which still wasn't a comfort) uttered with a devious grin, “Well, what have we here?”

Descole was shaking and he couldn't stop. He felt his insides crawling and boiling and threatening him. His skin was covered in goosebumps by the time one of the offending Alphas buried his nose in Descole's neck despite the boa. He hadn't meant to whimper, but the noise escaped him and they noticed. They laughed at him. Though he was still shivering, this made him glare and unleash a snarl of his own. Gnashing his teeth, he was tempted to give them a proper show of how displeased he was until the two Alphas snapped their jaws dangerously close to his throat. That silenced him. One added, his voice low and ragged, “You just finished your heat.”

“Pity,” the other Alpha said. Descole shuddered violently at the thoughts they must be having.

“And you have no mate, either,” the first Alpha remarked. 

The second sneered. “That just means no one will feel your distress.”

The third man, the possible beta, gave him a sly grin. “There are other ways to humiliate an omega, I'm sure.” Descole froze at their laughter, which was a mix of mirth and snarls.

 _Shit_. How was he going to get out of this one?

:)

Layton had been walking Flora and Luke home that evening when he felt a familiar tingling run up the length of his spine. A fever stilled his movements and his hands started shaking furiously. He hadn't felt this in a very long time, but it was a horrifying sensation he recognized. He honestly wished he didn't recognize it, though. The unknown threat pulsed up and down his spine, telling him that he needed to act _right now_. Although what he needed to act upon, he had no clue.

Flora and Luke stopped a few paces ahead, turning to look at the professor. Flora asked, “What is it?”

“What's wrong, Professor?” Luke inquired.

Layton could not answer. When he opened his mouth to assure them, an involuntary snarl escaped. He had no idea what was driving this reaction or what he was supposed to do, only that he was unable to speak through the growling and he needed to find . . . he needed to fight . . . to protect . . . .

He didn't give an explanation. Instead, he rather uncharacteristically let his instincts do the driving. Spinning on his heel, the sensation in his spine drove him forward and toward whoever it was was in danger and in need of his help.

As he continued unhindered, the snarling increasing in intensity and his movements growing more unrestrained, it occurred to him that there was only one person who might be alive to cause this reaction in him. Might. He had to tell himself might, because if it was who he thought it was he would certainly have a few choice words for the man.

And if Layton didn't regain control of himself, the man _might_ not survive Layton either.

:)

“Professor!” Luke called after him. He was about to follow the great Professor Layton, who'd just stormed off with a shiver and a snarl. Then Flora grabbed his arm and held him back. “Where's he going? Why aren't we going after him?”

Flora shook her head. “Someone's in trouble. He's going to help.”

“Then we should help, too!” Luke declared.

“No. Not this time. Let's just go. Let him do this on his own.” 

She saw the hesitation in Luke's face. He was so attached to the professor that it was almost painful for him not to go after and ensure his safety. It was odd, really, how possessive he could be of the professor. It was also odd how the professor was acting, and it didn't take Luke long to notice either. He asked her, “Why was he . . . growling?”

Flora's face flushed. Pulling Luke along, she simply asked, “Have you taken biology yet?” He nodded and said yes. “Then I don't think I need to teach you about how territorial Alphas can get.”

His stare was blank, like it wasn't clicking with him. Perhaps that was best. She almost rolled her eyes, because for all the favoritism Layton showed Luke there were moments where the boy seemed more sheltered than her. That was saying something, because she'd grown up in a village full of robots and still managed to know more than him at times. But Luke wouldn't be innocent forever. He would understand in time, but for now they should really get home and leave Layton to . . . whatever it was that had set him off.

:)

Layton heard the snarls and the whimpering in time to pick up a board with a nail in it out of a dumpster. Rounding the corner, a man had just stated he knew other ways of humiliating an omega. As he approached, the individual they were pinning to the wall received an elbow in the face. The blow was apparently hard enough that the man had gone limp. They dropped him to the ground as Layton was within feet of them.

Any other time he would have frozen as soon as he recognized Jean Descole, also known as Desmond Sycamore. Right now, in this situation, all it did was force a loud snarl from his chest and throat that startled the three who'd attacked and threatened the omega. A rage Layton hadn't known he possessed poured through him as he knocked one of the men in the head, causing him to collapse. Another drew daggers, which Layton knocked from his hands before headbutting the man. Stumbling back, he gathered himself together enough to try running. Layton didn't let him, striking him in the back of the head and knocking him down with the other. He turned to the last man to see him standing over Descole possessively and snarling. Layton eyed the man's teeth. His fangs were bared, incisors sharpened in response to Layton's posturing.

Facing the other man fully and straightening his still tingling spine, it crossed his mind that this was not proper behavior for gentlemen. None of what he'd done had been gentlemanly, but seeing the Alpha with his single pair of fangs made him think to hell with gentlemanly behavior. This fool was standing over _his_ omega and he was _furious_ that anyone would think the omega belonged to anyone but him. Without putting more thought into the action, he let his own fangs emerge. Unlike the other Alpha, he had a pair on the top row of his teeth as well as the bottom.

The Alpha was taken aback by the display. Every Alpha's set of fangs was different, unique to the Alpha, but Alphas with more than one pair of fangs were not to be scoffed at. This Alpha knew that well enough to step away from Descole without Layton having to raise a hand. They postured at one another still, but the other Alpha clearly wanted away from Layton judging by his shuddering and how low his head was hanging. After a moment, he turned to run. Keeping with what he had been doing, he still hit the man with the board and left him unconscious for good measure.

Dropping said board, he concealed his fangs once more and was relieved to find his spine had stopped tingling. The danger had passed and he could finally exhale properly. He looked at the three men he had put on the ground and murmured an apology that he didn't really feel. He could already feel the round of self-hatred over his complete lack of manners and poor demonstration of how a gentleman should act. He was about to fall into the endless loop of berating himself right then, until he looked at Descole.

The omega was out cold, and seeing him again after the incident with the Azran . . . it was overwhelming. He remembered everything in a matter of seconds, images flashing in the forefront of his mind. One moment in particular stuck out: the day he and Desmond had spent together on the Bostonius. When Desmond had gone into heat. The reminder of that day made him release an involuntary sigh coupled with a growl, which he immediately staved off. And then he had to recall how Descole had not only betrayed him, but also let Layton think him dead. His brow furrowed, and suddenly he wished the omega were conscious enough for him to give Descole a piece of his mind.

Something snapped behind him. He turned around, a snarl rupturing forth as he thought it was another threat. It wasn't; it was just an alley cat, looking for scraps in the tipped garbage bins. He tried to calm down, but realized he wouldn't feel right until he was safe within his home. Glancing back at Descole, he supposed it would be rude to leave him here. He'd never get any sleep knowing he'd just left him, that's for sure.

With another growl, Layton moved to pick up the omega and carry him back home. Situating his former rival on his shoulder, he decided on a route back home that would involve very few seeing him. The last thing he needed was for someone to ask why he was carrying Jean Descole over his shoulder. He might even beat Flora and Luke home, which was ideal. As he proceeded on his chosen path of travel, he unintentionally caught wind of a scent on the other man and was startled at how much it affected him. Descole's scent once again reminded him of that day on the Bostonius, and it brought the possessiveness within Layton back to the forefront.

With the way he was acting, he prayed that he met no one on his journey back home. He'd feel embarrassed when this was over, but for now he was willing to bite the head off anyone who so much as looked at the omega.

:)

When he regained consciousness, the last place he expected to be was on a soft mattress. Opening his eyes slowly, he was relieved to find the mask was still in place. Glancing around the room, he found he did not recognize it. It was small and the colors were warm, but the room itself was simple and not elegant in the slightest. On a nightstand, he saw his cape, boa, jacket, and tie folded neatly together with his hat atop them. His feet were sans shoes, and the top button of his shirt was undone. How had he gotten like this? His mind was a fog, and he couldn't recall any decent answer.

Then he remembered the Alphas and stiffened. Lying still like this, his body wasn't registering any evidence of further abuse. However, he felt violated all over again just the same. When he went rigid though, he felt something constricting around his waist while a vibration coursed through and over his back. The feeling of arms around him and growling against him almost made Descole unleash one of the most undignified noises he would have ever made in his lifetime. Almost. The gasp he'd released instead brought in a scent that should not have been as much a comfort to him as it was. His muscles relaxed as the individual's hold on him loosened, perhaps realizing that the constriction was making him panic.

He hesitated to ask, and didn't really need to. He remembered that fragrance better than he'd prefer to admit. “Layton?” he whispered. Instead of providing him with a verbal answer, the man nuzzled the back of his neck and the growling became more reminiscent of purring. With Layton touching him like that, he became hyper aware of every part of him the other man was in contact with. His back was flush to Layton's chest, their legs tangled, Layton's breath tickling his neck and ear, groin pressed against—

Oh Christ, he couldn't do this. He tried pulling away from Layton, but the man's hold on him tightened once more. No. He couldn't allow this. This was a bridge— _the_ bridge—that he couldn't afford to rebuild. He had to get away before they did something incredibly stupid _again_.

He pulled a certain way and was reminded that he'd been punched in the gut. How had he been reminded? Apparently he now had a lovely bruise as a souvenir. Curling into the fetal position, he let out a whimper that made Layton's growling cease. He imagined the professor's face was probably shifting from something akin to possessiveness to shock at his behavior. If he recalled correctly, Layton was easily appalled by his Alpha tendencies and usually kept them in check.

He'd thought correctly when the first words out of Layton's mouth were, “Are you alright?”

The truth came out then, and he honestly didn't know what possessed him to make him say it the way he did. “No, I just got assaulted by three horny motherfuckers before waking up to you gripping me like a damn ragdoll. No offense, but I had not been intending to ever see you again, and especially in this context.”

He pulled away, and Layton let him go this time. Letting out a series of labored breaths, he sat up on the edge of the bed. Placing his hands on his knees, he leaned on himself and tried to ignore the bruising. He felt Layton sitting up on the mattress, the professor interrupting his focus as he said, “Well if I'm being completely honest, I wasn't expecting to see you again either.”

The words were embittered. Descole rubbed his face, a string of curses running through his mind as he chose his next words carefully. He should have chosen his first words just as carefully, but sometimes he just couldn't control himself. That thought reminded him of the times in which he'd lost control, and he quickly put those memories out of mind before his skin started to crawl. “We were better off not seeing each other again.”

“That is _your_ opinion,” Layton snapped.

Descole had never known anyone who could snap quietly, but he'd also never met anyone who made him want to break his own rules like the professor. Shaking his head, he folded his arms and immediately regretted it because of the reaction his gut had. He groaned out, “Let's be reasonable here. We don't exactly have similar lifestyles, you know. Perhaps at one point we did, but . . . much was different then. For both of us.”

He was afraid Layton might not understand what he was saying. He prepared to further explain himself, but the professor jumped in with, “If you had simply asked me not to inquire on your whereabouts, I would have respected your privacy. You didn't need to fake your death to escape me.”

Descole clapped his hands over his face, “It wasn't to escape you, I just—,” he cut himself off with a growl of his own. Nails digging into his forehead, he retorted, “I don't remember all of my reasons for disappearing. A lot happened that day—”

“I was there. I know.”

Descole turned in his seat to glare at Layton. Not that Layton could tell with the mask on. Layton himself was leaning against the headboard of his bed, arms folded and a stern expression on his face. Descole loathed that look. He remembered that look well enough. He recalled seeing it on several occasions when Layton had bested him. It made him want to throttle the professor, but at the same time the familiarity of the gaze disarmed him. “This conversation is a perfect illustration of why I did not want to run into you again.”

Layton's body went rigid at first, but the tension quickly melted out of him. His arms uncrossed, hands falling to his lap as his features softened. “I'm sorry. This . . .,” he sighed, “this isn't easy for me.”

He didn't know whether it was Layton's expression or his own memories of the last time they'd shared a bed, but either way he found himself also sighing and leaning against the headboard. “Me either.” Bringing his legs up onto the bed, his chest felt heavy. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to think about it. It just made things harder for him as well. 

“You know,” Layton started, interrupting his thoughts, “I should be more upset with you. Over what you did, that is.” He paused for a while, inhaling loudly through his nose before adding, “But looking back, I understand why you did it. It doesn't fully excuse everything. It never does really. But . . . I understand. And I'm really not all that upset. I just wish you hadn't left so abruptly.” Descole looked down at his lap at the confession, finding it difficult to look at him then. “That's all I'll say on the matter.”

Nodding, he let the information sink in. Suddenly, he was thinking about his actual reasons for leaving after the event in question. Now that Layton wasn't prying him, he really did want to give a good reason for not seeing him again. _Damn you_ , he thought at the professor. How dare he make him feel safe? He had no right. And yet Descole wanted to speak. He wanted to share things with him. Aside from Raymond, Layton was the only person he'd been close enough to to know he could trust him. He'd discovered that during their time together, however brief it had seemed. He shook his head again, closing his eyes. “I needed a fresh start.”

“And how's that going for you?”

He snorted despite himself, chest still heavy and eyes still closed. “It seems my fresh start is still pending.” When he opened his eyes, Layton was nodding like he understood. “But there's unfinished business to attend to.” That unfinished business happened to be the remainder of Targent. He gritted his teeth at the reminder.

“And that unfinished business involves you getting attacked in back alleys?”

Descole groaned again. “That was slightly different. I . . . may or may not have angered a former asset to my affairs.”

Layton squinted at the politician-like answer. “And you thought this was a good idea how? Especially given how recently your heat ended?”

“It's not like I intended for things to go south. I—,” he stopped, the last part of Layton's sentence registering. He gave the professor a look askance. “Just how obvious is that?”

“Incredibly.”

“I've managed to keep my status secret for years. How is everyone suddenly . . . ?” Descole trailed off as he realized something. Looking down again, he started piecing things together in his head. Holding up a finger, he drew patterns in the air as he thought, connecting ideas like puzzle pieces before tapping his temple. He looked at Layton again. “How did you find me?”

It was Layton's turn to look down. “I . . . felt you. I felt that you were in danger, and I responded.”

“Shit!” Descole nearly shouted, standing up and pacing. “Goddammit!”

Layton shushed him. “There are other people in this house, you know.”

“I don't give a damn! Do you realize what this means?” Layton stared blankly at him. Descole reached up, wanting to smack his forehead with his palm. Of course Layton wouldn't realize. This was the one area in which the brilliant professor was clueless. And he wasn't very good at explaining either. He recalled the last time he'd tried to explain this type of situation to the professor, and the memory of Layton's growls made him shiver visibly. Holding up his hands, he tried to keep his voice from breaking as he said, “We're . . . compatible.”

Layton didn't look as surprised and disturbed as Descole wanted him to. “I guessed that.”

Des's brow furrowed. “What?”

“Well, I don't just march off in defense of any omega, you know.” Layton slid off the bed to stand on the other side of the room. With his back to Descole, Layton said, “And I've been thinking.”

Descole's back stiffened at the very idea of Layton thinking. “You have?”

“Yes.” Layton faced him then. Was it just Descole, or did his expression seem guilty? “I've been thinking,” spit it out already, “we should bond.”

Descole felt his stomach drop to the floor and his heart propel forward at a terrifying speed. When he finally felt that he still had air in his lungs, he cried out, “No.” It came out more like a croak. He tried again, this time with more force and a pointed finger to go with it, “No!” That got his feelings across. 

“This is merely a suggestion,” he said. This time it was Layton holding his hands up.

“Don't,” Descole started pacing again, “even suggest.” He stopped and glared at Layton. “How do you get away with suggesting something like that so casually? You could've asked me if I wanted tea in the same tone and it wouldn't have—”

“I was thinking of it more as a security measure for you, now keep it down,” Layton declared, folding his arms.

Descole ignored the latter part of his statement in favor of raising his voice more, “I had a mate!” He grabbed his head in frustration, trying desperately to keep thoughts of her from flooding in. He didn't look up, but he heard Layton stepping around his bed towards him. Descole closed his eyes against the approaching Alpha. “I had an Alpha, and I felt her—”

He wasn't expecting a hand to clap over his mouth and shove him against the wall. Another hand held one wrist, allowing Descole one free hand which he couldn't even fathom doing anything with. He was too busy staring into the sad yet determined gaze of the professor. Thoughts of his former Alpha dissipated, and he was glad of it. Those thoughts tended to weaken him, and he was already entirely too weak when next to this Alpha.

Layton growled as he whispered, “I felt my omega die, too. We weren't even bound yet, and I felt her go.” Descole froze, listening intensely and understanding exactly what Layton meant. His heart, though it ached, did not lose its fast pace. Layton's hand slid from Descole's mouth to rest on his shoulder. His eyes fell, and Descole couldn't tell whether his was staring at the wall or his neck. “I know it's not likely to find another mate. Not one I'll respond to as I have with you. And if being your Alpha makes it less likely that you'll be attacked . . . I'm willing.”

Descole felt disarmed, in more ways than one. On the one hand, Layton's words made sense. Alphas were respected more than omegas. That's why Descole had tried hard to impersonate an Alpha, and he'd done well. He'd done exceptionally well until now. Now, he needed to find a new way to guard himself, and Layton was an easy way out. On the other hand, this was also the most difficult solution. Forming relationships was no longer a strong suit of his. In fact, it had never been. He'd gotten lucky before. For all intents and purposes, he'd been lucky with Layton. But going into this could be the biggest mistake of his life. Trying to steady his breathing and his heart rate, he uttered, “You'll rarely see me.”

“That's to be expected,” Layton responded as his hands left his body, and Descole immediately felt the absence. “We're both busy men.”

“What if you do find someone else?” The thought made Descole more jealous than he'd imagined.

“If I do, and I doubt I will, I'm sure something can be arranged.” Layton smoothed out Descole's collar, fingers brushing Descole's neck. Descole grit his teeth to keep from making any noise. “I considered you a friend once. I'd be more than happy to continue that friendship.”

“We're talking bonding for convenience, not a continuation of friendship.”

When he spoke his next piece, Descole's eyes widened to see Layton's fangs. His hands hadn't left Descole's collar, either. “That's not how I see it.”

Descole covered his mouth as he felt his own fangs begin to emerge. “And,” he said through his fingers, “if I do return. Looking for a fresh start, or a hideout. What would you do?”

The professor's hands grew heavier on his collarbone and shoulders, fangs flashing as he said, “I'd be yours,” Descole inhaled through his nose, losing his last line of defense, “and you'd be mine.” He should have known he was never going to say no to Layton. But he'd tried. He'd tried as hard as one man could not to throw himself at the one person he'd felt comfortable being intimate with. Yet there he was, lips mashing into Layton's while the professor's hands pulled apart his shirt. Descole's hands made fists in the clothing at Layton's back, tongue slipping past his lips and fangs to meet with Layton's. The professor's tongue met with Descole's fangs and Layton pulled back to look at his open mouth. Reaching up to run a thumb over his lips as he counted the fangs in Descole's mouth, Layton looked both astonished and hungry for him. “Six pairs,” he whispered. Descole could almost hear him thinking that was how he'd concealed his omega status. As Layton stared at his twelve, hooked teeth, Descole got a good glimpse at Layton's four lengthening. Descole felt his pelvis jerk forward and press into Layton's, the bulges in their trousers meeting.

Before Descole had time to prepare himself, Layton had grabbed him by the hips and pulled him around to push him down onto the bed. A series of growls left the professor's throat, and Descole was impossibly desperate to taste his lips again. Layton's hands made quick work of his trousers and pants before he flipped him over onto his stomach. Face down in the softness of Layton's bed, Descole felt no reservations upon letting his moans out into the mattress. It the fog, he could hear Layton undoing his own trousers to free his member. When he felt the tip of the professor's cock lining up with his exposed entrance, he went rigid in realization. Layton didn't push in yet, however. In his rush to get Descole onto the bed, he'd neglected to remove the button-less shirt. He remedied this by grabbing Descole's shirt tail and ripping it down the center of his back. Descole shook as the professor leaned against his back, his breath reaching Descole's ear as the shredded shirt remained wrapped around his wrists. Descole's knuckles turned white as he gripped the sheets, completely unprepared for Layton.

When the professor reached around to present his wrist to Descole, he felt his anxiety ramp up. The silent cue for him to bite first weighed on him, and a voice in his head cried for him not to go through with it. Unfortunately the louder voice was begging him to. He knew exactly what he was getting into. He knew exactly what bonding meant. But just as before, he simply could not decline. Closing his eyes, he felt his fangs pierce Layton's skin seconds before four teeth sank into his shoulder and Layton sank into him. Layton's entrance didn't hurt as a result of the start of the bonding process, but his fangs drew blood and the feeling of the red liquid escaping his flesh made him whimper. Layton's movements were slow and merciful, but his growling grew louder and his member grew thick as his knot began to form. Descole's core buckled and he wasn't positive he'd be able to keep pace with Layton. This did not deter the professor, who wrapped his free arm around Descole's waist to hold him up. Meanwhile their fangs remained seated within each other's skin, Descole tasting Layton's blood in every part of his mouth as his body shook from the intensity of the bond.

He couldn't remember when it happened, but eventually Layton's movements grew so intense that Descole could feel them as if they were his own and it made his release come quicker than perhaps he would have liked. When Layton came, he didn't pull out. With the professor's knot inside him, they had to remain in that position until the swelling went down. And the swelling was more prominent now that Descole's nether regions were sore. At least they could remove their fangs. When they did, and their teeth were as they usually were, Descole let out a long, drawn out moan that made Layton's hands grip his hips again.

With Layton still inside him, he had time to think about what he'd just done. There was a part of him that was mortified. There was also a part of him that wanted to do that again. He shook his head at himself. “That's got to be the stupidest thing I've done yet,” he uttered when he found his breath.

There was a pause in which he was afraid he'd severely offended the Alpha. His Alpha. Layton was his Alpha now. Why did that feel so . . . good? “Dumber than the gigantic castle that transformed into a robot?”

Descole smiled despite himself. “I doubt there's anything that could top that ridiculous plan.”

“That's reassuring.” Layton bent down and kissed Descole's back, making him shiver. Then the professor whispered against his spine, “You're mine.”

Descole felt another ministration escape his lips. “Yours,” he uttered, like he couldn't believe it himself.

“When this is through,” Layton whispered, “don't run off. Allow me some time to enjoy my omega.”

How could he resist? “One night.”

There would be no sleep for them that night.


End file.
